Her Space: My Post-Lacrosse Life

This column originally appears in
Lacrosse Magazine's February 2014 issue. Join US Lacrosse today to
start your subscription!

I'm writing on a snowy day, which makes me think of another
winter 16 years ago when I was laboring over another assignment at
another desk.

It was that long, boring stretch of the school year between
Martin Luther King Day and spring break, with terrible weather and
looming midterms. The sky was grey and opaque. I'd had a horrible
day at school, followed by a poor outing on the final day of
lacrosse tryouts, followed by a pile of homework. My dad came into
my room to bring me a study snack and found me weeping over my
books. Stunned, he asked what was wrong. For once, it wasn't
pre-calculus.

"I'm going to get cut tomorrow," I sobbed. "I'm not going to be
a lacrosse player anymore."

I've been thinking about retirement lately. First of all,
financial services companies advertise on TV a lot, and most of my
thoughts originate in TV commercials and/or hunger. Secondly, my
bank has taken to sending me letters from its female executives
that strike a strange sisterly tone, encouraging me to contact them
about saving for retirement, which is something women don't do
enough. You should, of course, avail yourself of savings and
investment opportunities, so that you can spend your golden years
pursuing outdoorsy hobbies, holding hands with a silver fox on
adjacent bathtubs overlooking a cliff and doing all the other fun
things that well-heeled old people do in commercials.

You should also plan for your retirement from lacrosse. My
colleague, Lucia Perfetti Clark, wrote an excellent column in the
October issue of Lacrosse Magazine ("The Last Game") on how
officials should plan their retirements from active duty, and her
advice holds true for everyone deeply involved in the sport.
Someday, you will hang up your stick and goggles, and it's a hard
transition. The flameouts usually aren't as spectacular as you
sometimes see with pro athletes who struggle to adjust to life off
the field, but it's still a tough time.

That's what was making me cry so hard on that cold winter night.
I was losing a big piece of my identity.

"Don't worry," my dad said. "You'll always be a lacrosse
player."

And he was right about that. I'll always be a lacrosse player,
because it's a part of who I am, whether I have cleats or high
heels or work boots on my feet.

I didn't get cut the next day. The opaque sky turned to snow,
and school was cancelled. I got a stay of execution. I remember
thinking, "One more day. One more day, I can say I'm a lacrosse
player."

The next morning, the roads were clear and the cut list was
posted. I didn't make it. I was crushed, but I was better off
having that quiet snow day and a good talk to help come to terms
with it.

Obviously, I made my way back into the sport. I played college
club, dabbled in officiating, attended games a fan and much later
got a job at US Lacrosse. (In my defense, for anyone who's
wondering how a kid who couldn't make a high school team ended up
with a column: You don't have to be a good athlete to be a good
sportswriter. Also, I went to one of those insane Baltimore prep
schools infested with lax rats and was competing against four
future Tewaaraton finalists and multiple Stanwicks.) But not being
able to play for my school team, a competitive program that I
really cared about, was devastating. I had to find other ways to
define myself. I ultimately found writing.

I know it's a bummer to talk about endings in February, when
lacrosse season is just beginning. But it's so common to find the
end of a sports career jarring that I wanted to give you a heads
up. Talk to your parents or friends or coaches or even a counselor
if the idea of post-lacrosse life wigs you out a little. When you
feel ready, think of ways you can stay in touch with the game, and
how you can use what you learned (creativity, perseverance,
resilience) in other parts of your life.

Have a great season, and enjoy all the highs and lows. And when
it's over – for the year or forever – feel a little sad
for a while. It's OK. You'll always be a lacrosse player.